


But I'd Be Nothing Without You

by hammershandlebars



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Armie's kinda in the middle of an early mid-life crisis, Armie's moustache, Brian Swardstrom is Luca Guadagnino, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Mention of eating disorder, Road Trip, but it's not heavily discussed and not a main topic, but you might wanna know that it's there in case it triggers you, guys there's only one bed, supermodel!timmy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:54:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammershandlebars/pseuds/hammershandlebars
Summary: Pulling at his salmon tank top in a futile attempt to ventilate himself, Armie stood back, wondering if he should just turn around. Tell Brian that he couldn’t find his precious model, sorry not sorry.Sighing, Armie put on his sunglasses and made his way towards the kid. “You Timothy?”Then, the most fierce gaze he had gotten since the divorce, landed right on him, the kid’s jaw set so tight Armie almost worried that he’d get a headache. Well, not his fucking problem.“It’s Timothée for you, you might wanna learn how to pronounce it.”
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	But I'd Be Nothing Without You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brings me a lot of joy. Be kind to me <3

When Armie woke up Sunday morning, he did not plan on driving across the whole country.

In fact, he’d planned on going for a swim in the pool and grab one or five beers with lunch. Maybe invite Ashton over for a barbecue if he was in the mood.

Those plans did not include Brian fucking Swardstrom calling him up while he stood completely starkers in the middle of his bedroom, one hand scratching his balls, the other scratching his cheek.

First of all, he hadn’t heard from the guy in over a year. Second of all, he’d cut ties with Brian’s world a long time ago with absolutely no intentions of going back there. Fuck no.

“Hammer,” he’d groaned into the receiver.

“Armie, how are you?”

“Did you really call me up on a Sunday morning just to play catch up?”

“For those of us getting our asses into swing before noon, the morning ended hours ago. But no, you’re right. I didn’t call to chit-chat. Remember that favor you owe me from ages ago?”

“What about it?” Armie grunted warily. Why was it that he always ended up owing people like Swardstrom favors? Fucking hell.

“I need it today. At LAX.”

“What’s in LAX?” Armie asked apprehensively.

“Timothée Chalamet. You probably don’t know him and that’s alright, all you have to know is that he’s to be handled carefully and that I need him to be in NYC yesterday.”

“You said he’s in LAX. Isn’t the flights good enough for him?”

“Do you not watch the news? There’s a storm coming across the country, all flights canceled. The fashion show’s on Friday and I’d prefer to have him delivered in NYC before Tuesday.”

“Let me get this right. You want me to drive one of your doll faces across the country in less than two days while there’s a fucking storm coming? Have you considered that maybe there’s a reason why the flights are canceled?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Trust me Armie, I am as far from kidding right now as one could be. He’s waiting for you already.”

“But the storm!”

“You’re my savior!”

“Brian—” Armie started, but to no avail. Brian had hung up on him, the bastard.

Who did Brian think he was anyway? Expecting Armie to drop everything for _days_ and just drive across the country with some precious runaway model who couldn’t just fucking drive himself? Favor or no favor, Armie had a life and it did not include playing chauffeur whenever Brian saw fit.

Figuring that he was a god damned adult who could make his own decisions just fine thank you, Armie got back into bed. Yeah, it was an asshole thing to do, but honestly, Armie didn’t think the favor he owed Brian was really this big. Besides, the beers in his fridge wouldn’t drink themselves and so what if Brian thought he was an asshole? The rest of the world did anyway. No losses there.

Just as Armie had gotten comfortable, one hand lazily stroking up and down his dick, the other holding his phone while he debated if he wanted to find some half-decent porn or just let his fantasy do the work, his phone buzzed. Reading the text instantly made his half-hard dick flag so fast Armie almost got dizzy from the blood rushing back to his brain.

>> _He’s got brown curly hair and skin as pale as a renaissance lady but dresses like a street thug. You won’t be able to miss him. Here’s his number, just in case._ <<

Below was a phone number that Armie had no intention of ever needing. _Fine._ He’d go to the airport. He’d look for the pale thug but if he hadn’t found him within half an hour, Armie would be gone. No way was he going to play preschool teacher on a school trip.

Getting out of bed, Armie went to the kitchen to get some breakfast. While munching on his sixth piece of bacon, he considered whether or not to shower. No doubt he could use one, but Sundays were for leisure and with the way, Brian acted as if Armie was someone he could just fetch, he almost skipped the shower out of spite.

He ended up showering because he was weak. And fuck it if he was going to start a road trip out smelling like sweaty balls and bacon grease.

He made sure to take his time though, remembering that he was disturbed in his jerk-session before he got to the good part. The jerk-sessions was promptly rescheduled to the shower and of course, Armie made sure to be thorough, using both his fingers and his hand, edging himself and dragging it out until the water ran cold.

Packing a duffel bag proved to be taking its time too. He’d be crossing several states and thus several climates so he needed to come prepared. Especially with a storm coming. And if there was a voice inside his head telling him that the number of clothes he ended up packing had a lot in common with what his ex-wife used to pack, then Armie simply ignored it. He was just being responsible. Everyone knew how dangerous it could be to end up stranded in a ditch in the middle of a snowstorm with not enough clothes and blankets.

True, it felt completely ludicrous to stuff the back of his car with enough stuff to survive a full-blown winter while the desert sun was beating down at him, but oh well. It’s not like he even had any real neighbors around. The only one to witness his proceedings was a stray road runner.

By the time he was on his way, two hours had passed since Brian’s call. Had he mentioned something about the kid already waiting for him? Oh well, nothing to be done about that now. He’d just have to be thankful that someone went to fetch him at all. Yeah. Might as well set him straight from the start. If there was anything Armie had learned from being married to a model, it was to not give in to their constant demands of being treated like royalty. It only messed up their heads even further. Yeah, Armie was still bitter, so sue him.

Fuck, he really did not want to be trapped in a car with this guy.

Two and a half hours later, Armie pulled up at the airport. Starting the timer on his phone for thirty minutes exactly, Armie got out of the car to start a half-hearted search for his holy royalty sir tjalamet-pain-in-the-ass or whatever Brian had said his name was.

It didn’t even take Armie ten minutes to find the kid. It was kinda hard to miss him. He was the only person at the whole airport insane enough to wear a big black hoodie, black jeans, and what looked like a pair of Doctor Martens boots. Armie almost fainted from a heat stroke just looking at him.

Pulling at his salmon tank top in a futile attempt to ventilate himself, Armie stood back, wondering if he should just turn around. Tell Brian that he couldn’t find his precious model, sorry not sorry.

But no matter how big of an idiot Armie could be, no matter how good he’d become at ditching people who needed him, something about that overdressed idiot (literally) standing a few feet away from him made him do the good thing. Or at least, the decent thing. Armie had quit trying to do the good thing a long time ago.

Sighing, Armie put on his sunglasses and made his way towards the kid. “You Timothy?”

Then, the most fierce gaze he had gotten since the divorce, landed right on him, the kid’s jaw set so tight Armie almost worried that he’d get a headache. Well, not his fucking problem.

“It’s Timothée for you, you might wanna learn how to pronounce it.”

Armie bristled. Maybe he should’ve just stayed in bed. Turned off his phone, let Brian deal with this himself.

“If you want that lift you’ve got one minute to grab your shit. I’ve got better stuff to do than this.”

“I’ve been ready for five hours, waiting for you. You can start walking,” the kid snapped, and holy shit, maybe it was Armie who’d get a headache first.

“I’m sure I’m not the only person in this country owning a car and license. If your job really is so important, maybe you should consider a cab next time. Kiddo.”

The look that got him almost sent a chill of fear down his back. Almost. He’d probably just walked past a fan or something.

Striding through the airport, the kid looked so self-righteous Armie wouldn’t be surprised if he started snapping his fingers at random people, ordering them to get out of his way. It almost got entertaining when they were at a crossroad and he had to stop and wait for Armie to point him in the direction of their parking section.

He did so, as casually and relaxed as he could, his gait slow as he raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses, inclining his head to the left. When Timothée stopped a few feet away from him, clearly waiting for Armie to point out the right car, Armie stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and started whistling. In Armie’s defense, the kid made it way too easy to piss him off. It was almost a sin, not to exploit it.

Walking past Timothée, Armie stopped whistling and started humming an overly happy tune instead. The clenched fist and tight jaw he got in return were worth the annoyance the tune had caused himself.

Opening the back of his jeep, Armie leaned against the side of the car, gesturing for Timothée to start loading in his baggage. Timothée, who took one look inside the trunk before turning to Armie.

“What are you, a nomad? Does Brian know that you’re homeless? Because I seriously doubt that he’d send me across the country with some random stranger who looks like he just woke up from the eighties _and_ lives in his vehicle.” 

_Vehicle._ God, Armie became more and more sure that the kid might _actually_ be French for real. What a pretentious asshole.

“You’ve ever driven across the country during a storm, Timothy?” Armie asked casually, starting to move his own stuff around to make room for Timothée’s.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I know it’s not your job to figure things out sweetheart, but this,” Armie said, pointing at the pile of blankets, the duffel full of warm clothes and boots, “is what we grown-ups call safety measures. In other words, I’m not dragging your frozen body across the country, so if we end up in a ditch during a storm with no power, this is our plan B.”

Grabbing the biggest trolley, Armie unceremoniously pushed it into the trunk as if it didn’t weigh half his own body weight.

“I know what my job is but what is yours? Comedian? Because that would explain the aura of low income you’ve got clinging to you.”

“Nice try sweetheart. But some of us actually need to do the heavy lifting and have real jobs. I’m curious about that aura thing though because your’s just screams daddy’s favorite. I’d worry about that if I were you.”

Armie could’ve sworn he saw Timothée stumping his foot when he grabbed the smaller bags and threw them on top of the rest, not giving one single fuck that they were clearly all worth half his car.

“Hey, careful with my stuff you imbecile!”

“Get in the car, kid,” Armie said, acting as if he didn’t hear him. As if nothing could face him. Not even a little spitfire with some seriously pale skin -Swardstrom had been right about that- and a mouth that could give most people a run for their money. Who knows, the trip might be entertaining. In its own way.

“I’m twenty-five and the name is still Timothée,” the kid snapped, flinging the door to the passenger side open so violently Armie almost yelped out when it only missed the car next to them by an inch or so.

“You know, if you have to tell people that you’re old enough, then it’s probably because you aren’t,” Armie pointed out, getting into the driver's seat.

“If you get a kick out of being a condescending asshole, it’s probably because you aren’t either,” Timothée retorted and Armie really didn’t have an answer for that. Dammit.

* * *

To Timothée’s defense, the kid was fairly quiet when left alone. Or, as alone as one can be when crammed into a car with another person.

They’d been on the road for thirty minutes when Timothée pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He exclaimed and Armie was tempted to grunt in agreement because frankly, that’s exactly how he’d felt the whole day up until now.

“What?” Is what he answered. Better not draw attention to anything he might have in common with this walking billboard.

“Forty-one hours until New York? Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“Nope. You better get comfortable sweetheart, we’ve got a whole country to cross after all.”

“I can’t be in here for forty hours!”

Both hands on the wheel, Armie turned to look at Timothée's eyebrows raised in challenge. “Forty-one. And if you’re gonna walk instead, please let me know before we leave the state. I’ve kinda got stuff I’d rather do anyway.”

A condescending huff was all that earned him. Surprise.

“By the way, we won’t make it in forty hours. Not unless you’re up to getting behind the wheel too,” Armie said, giving the kid a once over from the corner of his eye. Honestly, they might need to get a bumper seat, in that case, the kid looked tiny in the huge jeep.

“What do you mean we won’t make it in forty hours? Please don’t tell me you’ve got like a speeding limit installed or something”

“What? Why would I have that?”

“Well, you look like someone who’s constantly pulled over for speeding!”

“I’m not— oh would you shut up? My driving is impeccable. But I still need to sleep and eat, not that you’d know anything about that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Aren’t you a model or something?”

“Your point being?” And alright, Armie didn’t even have to look at Timothée’s exasperated expression to know that he was being an idiot right now. Scrubbing a hand across his face, he tightened his hands around the wheel, focusing ahead on the road.

“Never mind.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Alright, if you want this to be over and done with at least as much as I do, then I suggest we take turns at driving,” Armie said, trying not panic at the thought of putting his own safety in the hands of this kid.

When Timothée mumbled something unintelligible rather aggressively, Armie leaned just a smidge closer, bringing his ear towards Timothée. “What?”

“I don’t have a license,” Timothée repeated, pointedly not looking at Armie.

“You don’t have a driver’s license?” Armie asked dumbfounded.

“I just said I don’t, will you stop asking me to repeat everything I say?” The kid sounded as if he’d rather just drop it.

“Didn’t you just brag about how you’re all of twenty-five years old?”

“Since when does a driver’s license automatically pop into your mail when you turn sixteen?”

“Sorry dude, but you’ve literally had nine years to get one, what the fuck?”

“Can we just drop it? It’s none of your business.”

“I’m just asking kiddo,” Armie said, realizing the wheel with all of his fingers except his thumbs in a defensive manner.

Armie didn’t have to look at Timothée to know that he was getting the stink eye.

* * *

It took Timothée five hours to realize that he didn’t know Armie’s name. Armie was this close to smacking his head against the steering wheel in pure frustration because how stupid is this kid? Getting into a car with a stranger, driving for five hours, and crossing one state line before he remembers to check who’s actually behind the wheel? At this rate, it was kinda mind-blowing how the kid had made it to twenty-five. Good for him that Armie didn’t make a hobby out of picking up strangers and throwing them in random ditches. Otherwise, he honestly might’ve been in shit up to his elbows right now.

“I never got your name,” he stated. Just like that, as if it was nothing, just a minor detail. It pissed Armie off on a whole new level. First of all, was this how the kid treated everyone? As if everyone was below him as if he didn’t need their names because they were merely peasants, tools, getting him from here to there, fetching him this or that. Second of all, seriously, someone should teach this kid about safety. Come to think of it, it might be a good thing that he didn’t have a driver's license. It would be a total car wreck. Quite literally.

“Armie,” Armie answered, hands gripping the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.

“Who the hell’s called Armie? That can’t be your real name,” Timothée said, his voice all _come on, stop playing around._

“It’s as real as it gets,” Armie said. Never in a million years was he gonna tell Mr. French super snob/ supermodel that his real name was Armand. No fucking way, he’d never see the end of it. Besides, he’s heard all the jokes by now. It got tiring. _Armandohahahahaha… fuck off._

“Alright, so like, do you have a last name? Or is it just Armie Armie?”

“Hammer,” Armie offered, not counting on Timothée ever having heard the family name before.

“You’re kidding. Please don’t fuck around,” Timothée said, turning to fully look at Armie.

Armie glanced at him, his face carefully folded into nonchalant indifference.

“Does it look like I’m fucking around?”

“You’re Armie Hammer?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why the hell would —- you know what, never mind. Just take a look for yourself,” Armie said, pulling out his wallet from his shorts before throwing it into Timothée’s lap.

“Holy shit,” Timothée breathed, staring down at the driver’s license.

“Yeah, that’s my new nickname for you. Like it?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why on earth would _the_ Armie Hammer look like—-” trailing off, Timothée gestured wildly at Armie’s general form. And yeah, Armie knew he didn’t look like the owner of an ancient business empire, but that was kinda that point, wasn’t it?

“Looks can be deceiving, kiddo. That’s why you gotta at least ask people their fucking name before you get into their car,” Armie said, looking pointedly at Timothée.

“Would you stop calling me that? I’m literally—-” looking back down at the license, Timothée was quiet for a moment. “- nine years younger than you,” he finished, eyebrows raised. Maybe he finally got the point. Or, maybe he’d just concluded that Armie was ancient. People in their twenties generally tended to think of people above thirty as archeological excavations.

“Sure sounds like I can keep calling you kiddo if that’s what I want to,” Armie said.

“It’s not like you could be my dad or anything,” Timothée pointed out, giving the driver’s license one last glance before putting it back into the wallet.

“I could still be your older brother… unless you’re more interested in the daddy thing? I told you already, your aura kinda—“

“Holy shit, would you shut up? And you said it yourself, looks can be deceiving.”

“Are you saying that your aura is lying?” Armie exclaimed in mock indignation. 

“I’m saying that you’ve got double standards and it doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t have double standards.”

“You do,” Timothée said, arms crossed in front of him.

“Do not,” Armie countered back, turning on his blinker as he shifted lanes.

“Are you always this stubborn?”

Flashing his teeth in a bright smile Armie knew most people appreciated, he shot Timmy a glance. “I’d ask you the same thing, kiddo.”

Sighing deeply, Timothée leaned back in his seat and went back to staring out the window. Armie was 90% sure that the kid had just fought back a smile.

* * *

They made their first stop in Tonopah. Armie insisted that he needed to take a piss and stock up on some food, Timothée rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance. Armie didn’t know what this kid’s deal was, honestly. Here he was, with a private chauffeur who even wanted to make sure that they didn’t starve and all the while he was acting like a moody brat.

When Timothée leaned against the side of the car, arms crossed in front of himself, Armie gave him a look.

“Aren’t you going to use the toilet?”

“No. I’m going to get to New York as fast as possible.” Armie fully expected him to start pouting. 

Sighing, Armie pinched the skin between his eyebrows. “We won’t get there faster just because you refuse to take a piss when we’ve got a toilet. And I am not going to pull over in half an hour just because you’re being stupid.”

Timothée merely shrugged his shoulders, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

“Listen, kid. We can do this one of two ways. Either you go willing now, or I’m gonna stand right here and wait for you to get your ass to the toilet. Which one is it gonna be?”

No answer. Maybe Armie should just get in the car and head back. Leave the kid to figure things out himself.

“Fine by me, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Armie said, leaning against the car next to Timothée.

Five minutes passed.

“You can’t force me.”

Grunting, Armie merely flexed his biceps, tilting his head back against the roof of the car.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you. Are you seriously threatening me with your muscles? What are you gonna do, carry me to the toilet? Are you sure you’re not the one with some weird kind of reversed daddy issues? Well, news flash dude, I’m not your god damned kid!”

Clenching his jaw, Armie braced himself for the inevitable sting the comment left. Telling himself to let it go, that the kid had no idea what he was talking about, Armie counted to three. Of course, Armie knew that Timothée wasn’t his kid. Hell, if he was he might’ve had just one ounce of manners but no. Armie was not going to get into that whole ordeal, he was not.

“Suit yourself, kiddo,” he said, stalking towards the shop. He was so over and done with this conversation.

By the time he was washing his hands, Armie had calmed down significantly. Just as he exited the toilet, he nearly walked right into another person on their way to entering. Looking up, he got an eyeful of a furious-looking Timothée.

Smirking, Armie stepped aside and held the door open as Timothée continued his walk of shame without a word.

“So, what do you want?” Armie asked, meeting Timothée on the isle filled with chocolate bars.

“I’m good,” he answered, not looking at the shelves.

“At what? Being stubborn, I know. Now, what food do you want for the ride?” Armie had a feeling that this had more to do with the kid’s temper than his actual need for food.

“Just… apples,” Timothée said, sounding as if he’d just relented on some big deal.

“Apples,” Armie repeated, blinking patiently. “Aaaand?”

“Ugh. I could go for some gum?” It sounded like a question as if he was as confused about what just came out of his mouth as Armie was.

When the kid didn’t say anything else, Armie snapped out of it. Taking one more round in the shop, Armie started adding all sorts of random snacks on his own to the card, all the while muttering under his breath. “Gum. He wants gum. When he could have literally anything, he wants gum. And apples.” Reaching the shelf with gum, Armie turned around to look at Timothée. “What flavor?”

“Spearmint is fine,” Timothée answered, hands stuffed so deep in his pockets, Armie started wondering if he had some kind of rabbit hole in them ala Alice in Wonderland.

“I pity your tastebuds kiddo, I really do,” Armie said, adding multiple packs of gum to his purchase.

“Drinks?” Armie asked, shouldering past Timothée. “No, wait— don’t tell me. Water is fine?”

“Diet Coke.” Scratching the back of his head, the kid looked around the shop as if he really didn’t like being in there. Pausing, Armie took a good look at him. He looked nervous, on edge somehow. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was feeling uncomfortable. Biting back a snarky remark, Armie just reached into the cooler and got the damned diet coke.

Whether he wanted it or not, he’d apparently ended up with yet one more person who refused to eat anything containing more than twenty calories at a time. How was this suddenly his life? Squashing down the immediate annoyance that he knew really just stemmed from anger over something he could not control, Armie paid for their snacks and handed Timothée his bag of apples, gum, and diet coke. What a feast he was in for.

* * *

One hour later, Timothée had eaten one apple at the slowest pace Armie had ever seen someone eat an apple. It was impressive, if not a bit concerning. Then, he’d sipped his diet coke for fifteen minutes until about half of it was left. For dessert, he’d popped a piece of gum.

Meanwhile, Armie had devoured one bag of crisps, mountain dew, and three chocolate bars.

“How do you even know Brian?” Timothée asked suddenly, still looking out the window at the passing scenery. He sounded as if the question had puzzled him for a while. As if he couldn’t figure out how someone like _Armie_ knew someone like _Brian._

“My ex-wife,” Armie sighed, leaning one elbow in the edge of the window in the side door. They hadn’t passed another car in the past half-hour and the silence had started to bore him. That still didn’t mean he’d rather talk about his ex-wife though.

“How does your ex-wife know Brian?”

“He used to be her manager if you’d believe it.” He probably wouldn’t. It was almost as if the kid was biologically programmed to question every single fact Armie offered him.

“You were married to a model?” Yeah, Armie was right. The kid definitely didn’t believe him. Good for him, maybe they could talk about something else.

Talking about his life before the divorce always made Armie feel even more like a major fail, a loser. A lonely fiasco who had a lot and ended up with… well. A handlebar mustache and the onset of a beer belly. Fuck.

At least business was still good. As long as he didn’t delve into the fact that that was probably just a result of him not having a life outside of his job. Which reminded him, he should probably call Nick. Let him know that he was wasting his time away behind the wheel for the next week.

Sighing deeply, Armie dove straight into the sufferings. “Samantha Diaz.” As opposed to himself, Armie actually expected Timothée to know who she was.

“You were married to Samantha Diaz?” Timothée asked, clearly dubious.

“I believe that’s what I just said,” Armie said, the words coming out a bit harsher than he’d intended.

Raising both eyebrows, Timothée popped his gum before whistling low under his breath. _Easy dude,_ was clearly what he’d just signaled.

Feeling his levels of annoyance rising dangerously fast, Armie tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “What? Didn’t think someone like me could be married to someone like her?” He snapped. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to get angry at the kid. Unluckily for the both of them, Timothée just had a real bad habit of pressing _all_ of Armie’s buttons like nobody’s business.

“Whaaat? Dude, no,” Timothée said, popping his gum again. Why had Armie bought him so much gum? He was only at his first piece. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Multiple fucks.

Armie didn’t make any attempt to continue their conversation and when Timothée went silent, he almost thought he was off the hook. No such luck though.

Opening his mouth, Timothée turned back towards Armie. Then, “No offense dude, I just didn’t think someone like her could be married. I mean, you’ve gotta admit it, she’s kinda intense.”

Armie snorted so hard it actually hurt his throat a little. “Intense. Yeah, that’s a good word for it,” Armie admitted. Then, tentatively, he looked at Timothée. The evening sun was standing low on the sky, sending its rays through the window behind Timothée. It almost made it look like he was lit up by some sort of golden halo. The kid was shining through and through, a small smile on his face matching Armie’s own.

It was all Armie could do to shake out of it and focus back on the road. What the fuck.

“Man, I love this song!” Timothée suddenly exclaimed, turning up the radio to excoriating levels.

“You like Kid Cudi?” Armie groaned, already back to thinking that really, the kid was just that. An annoying kid.

“Who doesn’t?” Timothée yelled, throwing complicated hand gestures left and right. Armie almost got blindsided at one point.

“Who _does?_ ” Armie asked, reaching out to turn down the music. Before he got anywhere near the thing, Timothée slapped his hand away. “Timothée,” Armie warned as sternly as possible.

“Armie,” Timothée grinned.

When the song ended, Timothée turned the music back down. Then, he elbowed Armie in the side. “You can just call me Timmy, you know. No one calls me Timothée anyway.”

“You’re a fucking menace, kiddo,” Armie groaned, biting the inside of his cheek in order to stop the growing smile on his stupid face. 

* * *

By the time the sun had long disappeared and the only light was coming from the dashboard and the occasional blinding headlights from passing cars, Armie felt exhausted. Their dinner had consisted of two lousy to-go sandwiches for Armie and -hold your horses- _two_ apples for Timmy, washed down with the remains of his diet coke.

The following result wasn’t really that much of a shocker. Armie felt tired and unsatisfied in the way that only a full day of running on shitty food could do to you. His ass was going numb, he desperately needed to stretch his legs and his eyes were burning. Fuck, he needed to take a leak too.

“I’m tired,” Timmy yawned, stretching his arms and legs as far as the confinement of the car allowed him.

“You’re right, we should stop for the night,” Armie agreed, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah but where?”

“Uh… can’t you look it up on maps or something? I’m not exactly local around here.”

Timmy spent about ten minutes tapping and zooming before he let out a frustrated sigh. “The nearest place is two hours away. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, fuck. Should’ve thought about that before,” Armie groaned, already feeling like throwing a petulant flip at the thought of driving for two more hours. How fast could you teach someone to drive?

“Yeah, exactly. Fuck,” Timmy agreed, shooting Armie a look as if this was suddenly _his_ fault. Staring out into the pitch-black darkness, Armie tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Timmy was going to hate this idea so fucking much, Armie knew it already and it was not even like he was stoked on it himself, but come on. He wasn’t some convenient sort of robot chauffeur.

“Guess we’ll just have to sleep in the car, ” he said, trying to sound as least bothered by that prospect as possible.

“Hah. You’re out of your mind. No fucking way am I sleeping in this car. Nope.” Well. At least the kid was being predictable. Armie could work with predictable.

“You’re more than welcome to come up with a better alternative that doesn’t include me keeping my eyes open for the next two hours,” Armie pointed out dryly.

“You do realize that we’re going to get robbed before you can snore twice, right? Besides, no way in hell am I sleeping upright the whole night,” Timmy exclaimed, completely ignoring Armie’s suggestion.

“We’ll put the seats down and you said it yourself, we’re in the middle of nowhere. It’ll be fine.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I’m dead serious.” And most importantly, dead tired.

“I don’t want to.” If Armie hadn’t been this _dead tired,_ he would have snapped at the little shit. Would’ve told him that Armie was, in fact, the one who wanted to do this whole trip the least. Instead, he smiled sweetly at him and cooed. “Don’t be scared princess, I’ll watch out for you.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Look, I gotta sleep. Right now, the risk of us crashing into a tree is bigger than someone dragging their asses out here to rob us,” Armie snapped, squinting as the high beams from an oncoming car blinded him.

“If something happens to me, I’m suing your ass.” God, this kid sounded more and more like a pretentious, spoiled brat. 

“I’ll give you my lawyer’s information right now if you want,” Armie answered promptly. Anything to make the kid shut it.

* * *

The back of the jeep was clearly not made for sleeping. Definitely not for two people, one a full-grown man, the other a whiny brat with limps everywhere.

When they’d found a place to park, Armie had thought that they could just go to bed and sleep. How naive he’d been.

“Where am I supposed to wash my face?” Timmy had complained. Armie had handed him a bottle of water. “What am I supposed to do with this?” He’d asked. Armie had gestured with his hands at the bottle. “Wash your face?” He’d asked. Timmy had rolled his eyes and groaned as if wondering how much of Armie’s brain was actually homo sapiens. “If I start spotting and going grey before New York I am so blaming you for it.”

Armie had shrugged and went about putting down the seats.

“Please tell me you’ve got a pillow somewhere,” had been the next demand.

Armie snorted. “Here,” he’d said, handing Timmy a folded blanket. Timmy, who had crawled into the back of the car rather aggressively, muttering something about “so fucking primitive,” and “I am not letting Brian hear the end of this.”

Armie had gotten in after him, figuring that yeah, maybe he should give Swardstrom a call too, after this.

When Armie was just a second from falling asleep, Timmy quipped up again.

“I can’t sleep with my head this low.”

“Try,” Armie had murmured.

“I’ve tried already,” Timmy mouthed back. Armie ignored him. Then, Timmy started squirming around again, making the car rock back and forth _again._ “Ugh!”

“Yes, ugh!” Armie agreed. “Can’t you just for the love of god keep still for five minutes?” He sounded angry even to his own ears. It seemed to do the job though, because this time, all of twenty minutes passed before Timmy spoke again.

“Why does it have to be this freaking cold?”

“It’s February and there’s a mighty storm coming,” Armie grunted. He had a feeling that it would be easier to get some sleep if his companion had been an infant with colic. All he got in response was teeth clattering.

Finally relenting, Armie threw back his covers, sighing loudly before saying, “all alright, you freezing little shit. Come on.”

“What?” Timmy asked, confused.

“Here,” Armie said, reaching out to put an arm around Timmy's chest, pulling until he was flush against his own chest. When Timmy let out a weak sound of protest, Armie only tightened his grip. It worked, Timmy’s body going soft and relaxed.

“Better?”

“No, wait,” Timmy said, squirming until he was facing Armie. Rearranging himself so that his head was nestled in the crook of Armie’s arm, cheek resting on his bicep and ice-cold nose pressed against his left peck, Timmy settled down. “You smell,” he mumbled sleepily as a last, weak attempt at complaining.

“You talk a lot,” Armie mumbled back, letting himself welcome the heat and safety of another body. It had been ages since it felt this easy to fit another person in his arms.

A minute later, Timmy exhaled slowly, pressed a little closer, and mumbled a “thank you.”

By the time Armie’s reeling mind quieted down, Timmy had been asleep for ages.

Fuck this trip and fuck this kid. Armie wanted to be furious, but really, he just felt too good right now. That, in itself, was infuriating enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are nice <3


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